


Little Sun

by LannisterQueen



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, aka before arthas fucks things up but also nathanos is with the farstriders before lirath dies, ranger days!, very specific i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 06:07:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21453253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LannisterQueen/pseuds/LannisterQueen
Summary: It is the first time Nathanos sets foot in the Windrunner's ancestral home.
Relationships: Nathanos Blightcaller/Sylvanas Windrunner
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Little Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Eh, just a small drabble adapted from an ask I answered on Tumblr. Basically the same, just added/changed a few things. Canon divergence is Nathanos is with the Farstriders before Lirath's death c:

He had never been to her family’s ancestral home before.

Nathanos did not enjoy giving her rangers fuel for gossip; while he cared naught for what the elves said of  _ him _ , he did care for  _ her  _ reputation not being tarnished. Sylvanas was the most skilled archer he had ever met, and her tactician’s mind made her just as formidable a General; but skill alone did not make leadership. She had the type of charisma that inspired her soldiers to fight their hardest and follow her unflinchingly; the kind of presence that rallied troops and frightened enemies. Doubting her leadership on his account would be a crime; Sylvanas deserved better than that. If her rangers were foolish enough not to realize it, Nathanos still intended on doing what he could to minimize possible questionings of her authority, be it through dedication and professionalism or avoiding any sort of rumor-inspiring behavior. It had not been because of their relationship that he had earned place amidst Farstrider ranks, no matter what the likes of Halduron would gossip about. In a bold move, she had seen his skill as chance to perhaps bridge growing gap between her nation and the rest of the Alliance, and though it earned her good graces with the human nations, Quel'Thalas was less than happy to see a human fight beside its defenders. They had not been more than friends, then, even if mere questioning meant he had to prove himself every single day, over and over again, and yet be subject to the disapproval of Kael'thas Sunstrider and Lor'themar Theron's sneers. Nevertheless, he did not falter. How could he do anything other than very best, shut them up for himself and Sylvanas both? Even if they did not trust his skill, they should trust her leadership, and that they did not spoke plenty of their foolishness.

Coming to Windrunner Spire would only give them fuel to question her, Nathanos thought; and now, should they whisper of close relationship between Sylvanas and him, there wouldn't be as much error in such assessment. Alas, he came to Windrunner Spire not as a lover, but as a Ranger Lord following his Ranger-General’s call. He  _ had _ told her of his concerns before, of course, when she had been to the Stead; had explained why she should not be there, why he should not come here, how he did not want her to suffer consequences for it. Nevertheless, she did not seem concerned with what anyone had to say, from the rangers in her ranks to the Prince himself. Sylvanas did what Sylvanas wanted, and now she wanted him to come to her in the Spire.

(Nathanos, more so than anyone else, could never truly deny her anything.)

Her family's home was ancient even to elven standards; looming tall with the graceful curves elves seemed to love so much, white and gold and red against the green of natural life all around. Beautiful, in a way that did not speak to him of a place where  _ he _ would ever belong, instead beauty to be admired only from afar. Home, to him, would always be much  _ simpler _ ; fields and woods of Lordaeron, touched by all seasons instead of eternal summer, a home that had been passed down from a generation to another much like the Windrunner’s own, though plainer in design, less grand. Perhaps there was something to be said of that, of how respective homes well reflected they themselves; Nathanos did not linger on the thought. There is something of thrilling in visiting her home at last, in spite of all his protests; something of daunting and exciting both, to have another piece of her willingly bared, offered to him of her own volition. Her home is too dear to her for it not to be meaningful that she so wants him there, he knows, and takes pride in it, even throughout his opposition for how this might be perceived by others.

Nathanos still questions at times why  _ him _ , of all people, him when she could have had anyone else; and yet he cherishes all the more that this was her choice, that she would have him regardless of how different they were.

His presence was, as anticipated, already causing more commotion than he would have liked. Windrunner Spire was a lively place, though that was to be expected; not only did Sylvanas' immediate family live there, so did Windrunners of varied degrees of consanguinity, and even beyond that, there was a good number of servants, fit for a family of ancestral nobility. The inhabitants eyed him in varied manners; like a foreign thing, like something that does not belong, like a curiosity (perhaps he is all of those; the glances are nonetheless irritating, however). And so Nathanos stood there, tense and still at the door of her home, enduring the distant scrutiny of strangers, until Sylvanas came to meet him at last. No more than a couple moments had passed in truth, part of him was well aware, yet it felt much like an eternity all the same. 

“Ranger Lord,” Greeting comes with a hint of playful, barely noticeable but there nonetheless; amused, as if the word in itself was full of secrets shared only by the two of them (in ways, it was). There is something of feline in her gaze, he thinks, the look a cat would give to prey they intend to toy with, knowing their target to already be well within their trap (is he not ensnared by her in all ways he could be?). 

Sylvanas enjoys her little games but so does he (it would not be fun for her to play without a willing participant, would it not?). “Ranger-General.” His reply is not in kind, greeting all formal, soldier reporting to a commander; he likes to frustrate her a little bit, denying to give her what she wanted immediately. He always gave it in the end, they both knew. What could she ask that he would not give, gladly and without question? If she asked for his beating heart, still would he open his chest and rip it out himself, content to offer it to her if only it allowed him last seeing her happy.

What he did not expect — and neither did she, he would wager from ever so subtle widening of eyes, mild tilt of head, one long eyebrow slightly raised — was the arrival of  _ another _ Windrunner, not at all concerned with intruding possibly personal conversation or interrupting important discussion (it is the youngest, he knew even before introductions were made; her only brother). Her sisters he had met, albeit briefly; after all, they were both rangers also. The youngest brother was still too young to have chosen his path, though most expected him to follow his sisters’ footsteps; the Windrunners had a long tradition of rangers, likely oldest family of noble blood to dedicate themselves to something other than the arcane. The first Ranger-General had been a Windrunner, and it had been him to organize the Farstriders as they existed still to this day. A lot of pressure upon those who carried the name, he would wager; to Nathanos there had been never important name to bear nor historical figures of legend to live up to. 

Lirath, unlike her sisters, he had known only by name. The young elf had blonde hair more golden than akin to Sylvanas’ pale blonde; a very sunny disposition as well, Nathanos thought, observing the energy with which he approached, the bright smile he offered his sister. Before an introduction could be made, the young elf stopped to stare at him, not with the wary or disdainful eyes his kind often looked Nathanos with, but something of genuine, childish curiosity that the Ranger Lord did not know quite what to do about (he braced himself for the worst, always; there had scarcely been room for him not to do it, when the worse was always what he got). He did not say anything, and neither did the young elf. Instead, apparently having stared long enough, Lirath turned to his sister with a very serious expression. Nathanos waited, somewhat confused frown only faintly noticeable on his face; he did his best to remain impassible, but the antics of the boy were curious, to say the least. Was it because Lirath, too, had heard rumors of Sylvanas' relationship with her Ranger Lord? Did he measure now if he was good enough for his sister, or merely for the order his family had built? Was it prejudice, plain and simple like that Nathanos met time and again in Quel'Thalas, only assuming different form in a child who had never truly dealt with other races before?

"Sylvanas," Lirath begun, still sounding absolutely solemn in what he had to say. "I want a beard like his!"

Sylvanas’ laughter (he so loves to hear it) resounds, musical; Nathanos cannot avoid lips curling ever so slightly in a smile. The commentary disarms him completely. So many possibilities had crossed his mind, so much of the worst... but young ones were scarcely ever already touched by prejudice unless that which was taught to them, and although the Windrunners had many traditions, thinking one lesser merely due to their race did not seem to be one of such. Nathanos thought of what the other elves would think of Lirath’s statement, smile broadening slightly. A beard like a human wore?  _ Oh, the horror! _

It was Sylvanas who replied, as it had been her Lirath spoke to (something about  _ perhaps one day, when you're a man grown, Little Sun _ ). Nathanos did not interfere; he was not nearly as skilled with young ones as she was, nor was he as charismatic. (He thought of Stephon, of how well Sylvanas had handled meeting him, enough so he had yet to stop hearing him go on about the Ranger-General and her golden coin; and he thought of how nicely his cousin might get along with Lirath, and he thought that maybe, one day when they no longer needed to hide so, to keep distance at least in appearance, he would have liked for their families to meet.) More than that, truly: in watching the two Windrunners go on in easy conversation that seemed to brighten Sylvanas’ mood in a particular way, Nathanos decided perhaps he had been too harsh in deciding  _ all _ elves would be more alike Lor’themar Theron than Sylvanas Windrunner. If such assessment was wrong, and they were indeed prone to their prejudices more often than not, still he knew her not to be  _ sole _ exception, now — as well as he knew that Lirath had quickly earned a place as Nathanos’ second favorite Windrunner.

  
  



End file.
